


softcore

by cowboyflesh (cowboymeat), lambchops (lambmeat)



Series: softcore [1]
Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cuckolding, Double Penetration, Drug Dealer Johnny Silverhand, Drug Use, Exhibitionism, Femdom, M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Threesome - F/M/M, Trans Male V (Cyberpunk 2077), Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:14:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29267079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboymeat/pseuds/cowboyflesh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambmeat/pseuds/lambchops
Summary: “No, no— there’s a catch. You don't drive eight hours for nothing.” V says accusingly. V watches the older think to himself, disguising his gaze as it wanders over V’s features. The idea pops into his head as he watches those lips stretch into a grin as V gets ready to ask if he’s lagged out.“Kiss me,” Johnny blurts out, “then we’re even.”“Am I even allowed? Kerry and Rogue won’t kill me?”“I wouldn’t ask you to otherwise," Johnny lies through his teeth.
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand/Male V, Johnny Silverhand/V, Kerry Eurodyne/V, Rogue Amendiares/V
Series: softcore [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194509
Comments: 25
Kudos: 117





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> cw: words cunt, cock, nub, folds used for V

There’s no need to knock and wait for someone to roll over and groggily answer the door at 6PM anymore, considering that V was entrusted with a spare key. It was explained to him that it was simply a benefit of being a good friend and a trustworthy soul, although for being his dealer, V doesn’t really grasp the logic behind the decision.

Dealers are generally uptight, restrictive with who exists in their space for how long. The more time he spent over with Johnny and Rogue, the more it seemed as if they were all simply best friends with the benefit of a fix whenever he damn well pleased at dirt cheap rates.

The gentle strumming of a bass guitar can be heard through the heavy apartment door, and V is greeted with the sight of Johnny idly tuning his axe on the couch. The rockerboy glances up at the sound of a key turning over and grins at the streetkid, although his hands never leave his instrument. 

“‘Ey, V! Jus’ us tonight, Rogue ‘n Kerry went out,” Johnny says. V mumbles an affirmative and finds a suitable spot to throw his backpack down amidst the clutter of dirty laundry and unorganized collections of magazines, cigarette packs, and miscellaneous paraphernalia.

“Sick, just wanted to hang out.”

“Figured. Didn’t text before they left so I figured I’d break your heart when ya got here and keep ya to myself,” Johnny says with a teasing grin and a wink over the top of his shades. V doesn’t falter, chuckling and throwing himself onto the couch next to Johnny, if just so he could kick his boot for the flirting.

Johnny was… a tomcat. He couldn’t figure out who owned him, per se. Rogue and Kerry seemed to have their own holds on him, but he doesn’t respond to them as if he were dating any of them. Polycule or messy friends-with-benefits situation, he didn’t know nor did he really care. _Tried_ not to care, but he isn’t blind to the fact that Johnny has taken a liking to him.

Tilting his head towards the coffee table, Johnny gestures towards the box they use to store their products. They generally keep pretty well stocked up on anything that won’t make a man bite someone’s face off in a psychotic haze. That’s the quality that drew V to Johnny first as a dealer; understands what the point is— to have fun, not destroy yourself or those around you. Some dealer’s buy into those frenzied ones that are desperate for one last mind-blowing high, but he’s witnessed Johnny cut off his clients before when they started looking for shit that’d make them dangerous if just to reach that peak one last time.

“Gotcha your favorite,” Johnny hums, pointing his guitar pic at the box.

V blinks with pleasant surprise— well, not that it really was a surprise. More than it was a surprise that he even managed to, seeing as the cops bust down the door of the guy that made this compound specifically. Johnny seems to go out of his way to pick up his favorite street kits and even hits V’s favorite food joint for take-out if he texts ahead. 

The look melts into one of light-hearted suspicion. V narrows his eyes at Johnny, who only quirks an eyebrow at him. Chasing each other’s tails.

They aren’t a stranger to flirting, but V isn’t certain what he’s necessarily allowed to do if Kerry and/or Rogue have any say in Johnny’s endeavors. They are the last people he’d want to cross if Johnny were at all included in a closed relationship without disclosing as such to V explicitly.

That, and he doesn’t even know if he’s reading the body language right. Groups of addicts can be a little closer than typically groups of friends can be, the drug usage eroding the worry of social stigma when it comes down to snuggling your male friends as a dude.

“What? You think I’m gonna make you snort it off my dick?” Johnny muses, to which V gives him a hearty shove.

“Dunno, what with you talking about gettin’ me _to yourself._ ”

“Chill, was a joke.”

“Right, right,” V is grinning to himself, leaning forward to retrieve his little gift. Behind him, Johnny shifts and sets his guitar against the arm of the couch, instead relaxing and throwing his arm over the back. Plucking a little baggie from the assorted selection, V turns it over in his hand.

“Thought this guy skipped town last week?” V hums, reading over the little handwritten label. Johnny shrugs.

“Managed to catch up to him.”

He throws an incredulous look at Johnny.

“Johnny.”

The rockerboy isn’t looking at him, staring at the TV that always seems to be playing some sort of sitcom rerun.

“How fucking far did you drive for this?”

“Mm. Four hours, back and forth.”

“ _Four—?”_

“Like I got anything better to do,” Johnny says nonchalantly, as if he didn’t sacrifice his entire day just to get V his preferred ketamine. He hardly even gets up to run to the store or meet his clients. A disbelieving laugh bubbles up out of V’s throat, and he settles back into the couch with the little baggie. 

Right into Johnny’s arm, tucked against his side. Typical for them, not something V fixates on anymore, even as Johnny tightens his grip on V’s shoulder and drops the arm to his waist comfortably. Everyone piles on top of each other here, so the rather intimate contact of Johnny’s hand squeezing him to his side, his fingertips tracing the band of exposed skin between his shirt and waistband, doesn’t register.

“I just _might_ snort this off your dick,” V jokes, “how much do you want for this? I got—”

“Jus’ take it,” Johnny cuts him off, “don’t want anything for it. Enjoy it.”

Looking to the rockerboy, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline, V is stunned into silence for a moment before shaking his head vigorously.

“No, no— there’s a catch. What’s the catch?” V says accusingly, Johnny shrugs, thinks, makes a vague gesture, then sighs as his gaze floats back over to the streetpunk.

“You really can’t just take a gift, huh?”

“Not from some sleazy rockstar, nah.”

“First of all, ouch—” Johnny says, feigning upset with his implant over his heart, “and second…”

V watches the older think to himself, eyes hidden beneath his shades, disguising his gaze as it wanders over V’s features. The idea pops into his head as he watches those lips stretch into a grin as he gets ready to ask if he’s lagged out.

“Kiss me,” Johnny blurts out, “then we’re even.”

“Am I even allowed? Rogue won’t kill me?” V asks with a smile, aware that Johnny wouldn’t turn him down for just about anything, if he had to guess. He still doesn’t want to tromp on any toes, seeing as it’s just the two of them. 

“I wouldn’t ask you to otherwise.”

V responds by tilting his head to take a proper look at Johnny. He scans Silverhand’s face for any scrap of additional context—whether he expects it to go further or fizzle out. Uncertainty has never really been V’s strong suit, and making out in exchange for drugs hasn’t yet become a habit. 

Johnny clears his throat, awkward in a way that V’s never seen from him before. 

“Unless you don’t want to,” he tacks on lamely when V isn’t immediately springing into his lap like half the fangirls at his gigs. 

“Like the idea hasn’t crossed my mind once or twice.”

The rockerboy peers at him out of the corner of his eye, avoiding clear eye contact as one would with the sun. He’s not blind to V’s inclination towards him, but the verbal confirmation is another beast entirely. A hint of a smile plucks at his lips again. 

“That’s what I like to hear.”

V huffs amusedly before taking initiative, palm coming up to turn Johnny’s head towards him again. He gives an experimental stroke to the stubble beginning to wind down Silverhand’s cheek into his neck. 

It catches Johnny like a rabbit in a snare, and he couldn’t be more eager to find out precisely how far V plans to go. 

The younger pushes the sunglasses off of Johnny’s face, perching them neatly in his hair. A small gesture, but strangely intimate considering he’d only ever seen Johnny take them off a handful of times. Only ever to go down on someone in the midst of a drug-fuelled loss of impulse control or to vomit up his guts when he’s overdone it on booze.

“Hey, handsome,” V teases.

“Don’t make me take back our deal.”

“I would _never_.”

A chuckle wells up in the back of Johnny’s throat, but is intercepted by V’s surging forward. Their lips crush together in a clash of relief and desperation and yet-unspoken want. It’s a mess, in honesty, but such impatience can only supply so much accuracy.

After a few seconds, V backs off for a glimpse of Johnny’s expression. They’re still close, closer than they’ve ever been before, lips just barely brushing against each other anymore while they share breath. 

“That worth the _kitkat_?” V teases as they fully separate, even though his voice comes across deadpan and almost bored. Anxious to get his lines ready. He moves to settle back into the couch when Johnny’s arm catches him. 

“Think one more,” Johnny cooes at him, voice steadied with renewed confidence. “Cost me a pretty penny.”

Rolling his eyes, V huffs out a chuckle as they come together again. Softer, less frenzied than before, but still airless and passionate. Johnny tilts his head and presses a little deeper, testing his luck after his first shot struck gold. 

V didn’t think Johnny would be a bad kisser, seeing all the practice he gets in at gigs and everywhere else someone knows his name— but he didn’t expect to be rendered breathless and flushed just after two kisses. 

They don’t pull away for a while, lazily rolling their tongues against one another and pushing back with every rocking motion. V knows that this, whatever game they’re playing, certainly doesn’t count as just two little pecks, but he doesn’t find it in him to care. Not when Johnny’s teeth graze his lower lip and nip at him so deliciously sensuous that it strikes a low burning heat in V’s gut. 

Johnny’s the first to retract, much to V’s chagrin. He was getting into the groove, even tempted to snake a hand into Silverhand’s hair had they carried on much longer, but perhaps it was for the better that Johnny exhibited an ounce of self-restraint.

He’s gazing at V with an unreadable expression with his cheeks reddened with a blush. Johnny Silverhand does not simply blush over some making out, or so V thought. 

Settling against the arm of the couch, Johnny relaxes.

“Go ‘head,” the rockerboy says gruffly, voice an octave lower than it was just a couple minutes before. “Think you’ve earned it.”

Following him to plant one more chaste peck on his cheek, V grins at him widely. Excited.

“Thank you,” he says cheekily before leaning forward with his gift still in hand. He focuses on clearing off enough space on the glass coffee table to see his work, then almost delicately pops open the baggie and works on making a singular strip of fine, white powder. 

The other man seems to be over their little adventure, now watching the TV as V works on preparing his lines. He’s seen it done a thousand times before, and it doesn’t offend V to lose an audience. He much rather not have wide eyes tracking his every move. 

Without looking back, he holds a hand out to Johnny. There’s a shift behind him accompanied by a single discordant note being plucked from the guitar before Johnny’s pick is being placed in his palm. He thinks that that’s that and Johnny will go back to staring at the screen until he feels broad palms on his shoulders, reaching around his front to grasp the unzipped opening of his patterned varsity. 

Nonplussed, V allows for the Samurai merch to be pulled from his body, trading the pick from hand to hand as he frees his wrists. The room of the apartment living space is a little chilly to his warm skin, half-exposed under his tattered and cropped shirt. Soon enough he won’t be feeling the nip of the air drifting through the cracked window. 

The shuffle of fabric in V’s ears tells him that Johnny’s slid the still-warm fabric over his own arms, capitalizing on V’s lost heat. Politely, Johnny returns his gaze towards the program again—or at least does his damnedest to pretend he’s looking at anything but V’s partaking. V’s practiced confidence would be at least somewhat arousing to _anyone_ , he rationalizes. 

He most certainly isn’t borderline-staring at V as the younger man ducks his head to the glass coffee table, imbibing with practiced ease. It stings, as does anything snorted, but this product in particular is his favorite due to its relatively mild hit. He wipes any remnants from his upper lip and checks his fingers over to ensure there’s not another half-hit left. There never is, but he can’t help but look. 

V settles back into the overstuffed couch, satisfied with himself. Johnny’s casual mention of his eight hour round-trip continues to bang around the inside of his skull, considering he hadn’t seen him do one thoughtful thing for either of his established outputs in god knows how long. All that driving just for the chance of getting lucky? Just about anyone would be willing to fuck him for less. Shit, more than half his clients would, even if they claimed it was just payment for their own vices. 

It has to be something personal, something more than Silverhand playing a good friend. And V’s happy to roll right along with it. 

Innocently, just to figure it out, of course. 

He catches Johnny throwing his head over his shoulder at the cracked-open window spilling outside air into the room. 

“Just me, or is it a little cold in here?”

“Guess so,” V feeds into it. He’s curious as to where this is going, he’s gotta admit. And he’s got a couple minutes to kill before the drugs kick in. What the hell. 

Johnny nods, nonchalantly pulling V closer. Almost into his lap, with their thighs overlapping despite the ample room left on the furniture. Even in spite of the chill settling on his bare arms, the heat from the minimal contact is all he can center himself on. 

“Are we having a moment?”

Silverhand audibly laughs at the comment. He gives a shrug as he urges V closer, going so far as to even spreading his legs to give him a space to slot into. V takes the hint.

“Maybe.”

Shifting and settling firmly into Silverhand’s lap with his legs cushioned over the others and stretched out onto the rest of the couch, V takes a moment to toe off his ratty sneakers before getting any more comfortable. Playing an ‘oblivious’ homewrecker is one thing, but putting dirty shoes on someone else’s furniture is where he’ll draw the line. 

Nabbing his phone from the coffee table, V comfortably rests against the arm of the couch to doom-scroll as his high sets in. Johnny props his chin on his implant while the other finds a nook of V’s body to settle in— across his thighs with his organic fingers toying idly with the unseamed hem of his shorts. 

It seems like that’s that, as Johnny provides no further advancement and keeps his eyes glued to the figures dancing across the screen. It’s nice. His body is warm, keeping him from shivering at the unconditioned air in the room, and solid. All muscle and bone keeping him from sliding off the couch as his eyes grow pleasantly heavy. 

At some point, he’s just mindlessly tapping his thumbs against his phone’s screen, enjoying the stimulation it provides as his brain slows to a labored chug. He had long since stopped processing the posts he was double-tapping or the faces he was staring at blankly. 

Without meaning to, his head tips back and knocks against Johnny’s hand and consequently, his chin. Other than a bothered grunt, there’s no reprimand for it. In fact, he gets some distracted pets as the rockerboy first brushes his fluffy hair out of the way before carding his fingers through the undercut of flaming red. 

The other keeps a steady grip on him, occasionally hauling him further into his lap whenever V relaxes too much and starts to slide. 

“C’mon,” Johnny rumbles, once again preventing him from crumpling to the floor, “I know you can handle your lines better than this.” It's light-hearted. Teasing. Johnny is gazing at him with a grin, in part because of the half-lidded, floating look V is returning. 

“‘Comfy.”

“Can tell,” Silverhand puffs in amusement. 

Allowing himself to be guided, V rests his head against Johnny’s metal-enforced collarbone with a content sigh. The bassist’s hand rests over his shoulder, brushing against his neck with his thumb petting the rough stubble of his cheek. 

The other migrates to the tops of his thighs, purposefully slipping under the hem of his shorts a couple times before his warm palm is sliding to his haunch. Hotter than his skin beneath the fabric, it’s the one thing V manages to focus his wavering attention on. 

His thumb finds the side stitch of his underwear, not hesitating before wedging beneath it too. With his hand effectively between his body and all layers of his clothes, V feels his blush reach his ears. He doesn’t know when heat started to fill his cheeks, or if Johnny can feel it against his chest, but it comes about with a disturbed noise rolling out of his throat. 

Johnny doesn’t pay any mind to the little sound of awareness, seeing as it wasn’t of any negative note. It registers more as implicit permission in his head, only capable of thinking about getting his hands on the pliant body in his lap. 

He wants to look at V, drink in those dilated eyes that swim about the room with that air-headed smile plastered on his face. See how he blushes and laughs at his own lame jokes as if they’re the funniest thing in the world. But he’s trying to behave, or at least be subtle, not wanting to spook the younger, if that’s even possible in his drugged state. 

Baby steps. Johnny’s hand finds and lightly squeezes at V’s ample body, pouring his attention into his hips and love handles and not the television. 

A skater at heart, albeit a clumsy one with a plethora of bandaids bandaging his knees and elbows, V has fine muscle definition. Thighs plump with muscle and arms defined with the experiences of saving himself from asphalt, softened by his junk food diet and cheap food service job, he makes for a pretty guy. 

Squishing his hip, thumbpad ghosting over the side of his stomach, something flutters in his chest. Soft, perfectly fitted for his lap. It’s a miracle he hasn’t been snatched up and had a ring thrown at him yet, both for his looks and his undeniable charm.

He’s got it bad. 

“Laggin’?”

“Me?”

“Been starin’ at me for ten minutes, Johnny.”

“I don’t get to see you like this very often,” he explains. Silverhand swipes a few loose hairs from V’s face from where they’ve fallen away from the rest. V leans into it eagerly, as a cat might lean into a particularly satisfying scratch. 

A boldfaced lie. V doesn’t call him on it. 

He pointedly ignores the way the other hand’s fingers edge at the hem of his underwear—just so happening to be the skimpiest-cut pair that he owns. The digits dance along the base of his hip bone, where the sharp angle melds into the tops of his thighs. Where platonic gestures have no business occuring. 

He doesn’t fight it though—not like he would if he _wanted_ to. It feels almost mandatory at this point, considering how frequently he’d heard (or seen) Johnny accepting alternate forms of payment for his product. Were he anyone else, V might have even felt left out for Silverhand’s lack of attention paid to him apart from strictly friendly contexts. 

Instead of calling his bluff, V lulls his head to lock eyes with Johnny. His vision stutters as his mind catches up with his body, and would have made him sick if he were a lightweight. 

“What’re you doin’?”

“Nothing.”

The fingers begin to pull away.

“Don’t have to stop.”

All Johnny _can_ do is stare at him mindlessly, caught in his own thoughts for a moment as he deciphers V’s meaning. Sure, he’d been all but impulsive with other partners, but none of their opinions of him mattered to Johnny as much as V’s. ‘Fuck it, let’s do it,’ only works if you don’t care about the outcome. 

“You look like someone died. ’Lax.”

Opting to be quiet for once in his life, Johnny tries to do as he’s told. Forcing the tension from his shoulders and allowing his face to go neutrally slack, he waits until V has broken their gaze and settled back against him before he begins again.

From the top, he repeats the melody of his fingertips dancing over the natural hills and valleys of V’s lower half. Traces the almost-string sides of V’s underwear, then strokes the skin beneath the cotton as if he’s trying to warm him up to the notion of intimacy. Patience isn’t necessarily a strong suit of Johnny’s by any means—proven time again and again with his score sheet for winning by being the stereotype of punching bouncers and smashing his ax. But he’s actually invested in V. The achievement of fulfilling his long-winded wet dreams is ample enough encouragement to just take a deep breath and take it easy.

“You’ve got nice hands.”

Johnny’s eyebrows shoot up and his fingers momentarily pause.

That is as much permission as he’s likely going to get. There’s nothing more coquettish than a comment about another man’s hands, and Johnny has been around the block enough to hear the line used on himself. 

Before, it’s been an eye-rolling attempt at getting Johnny to jump them, but coming from V? His breath comes out as a heavier sigh than he intended as a line of arousal weaves through his nervous guts. 

“You think?” he hums, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. Not let his excitement show. 

“Mhm,” V affirms with his voice sounding too smug. Silverhand is acutely aware that V has been tracking everything he’s said and done once he’s caught wind of his first attempt at wooing him. Driving eight hours that day has been his ballsiest move yet, and V has been watching from across the playing field, finally considering moving pieces into action. 

Gliding to the front of V’s body, he feels the light dusting of feather-soft hair guiding him from the street kid’s navel to his heat. Just curious little pets that familiarize each other with the reality of Johnny’s hand down V’s shorts before he inches further down.

The moment Johnny crosses the boundary— rather, flies straight into the sun and tests his wax wings—V sighs greatly with relief. Slumping against the arm of the couch and canting his hips, he’s not even trying to pretend he’s shy or at all against this. Whatever _this_ is.

Johnny’s index and middle pet the length of V’s little cock. It warrants the fluttering of the younger’s eyes as any and all stimulation makes his head spin with blissful disorientation. Applying pressure to the root of his length, he hungrily watches the way V’s hips twitch and jerk into the contact. 

“Christ,” Johnny breathes reverently as he slips his fingers through V’s folds. He’s already wet— slick greedily clinging to his fingertips as they barely dip into his heat. “You have _no idea_ how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Then shut up and _do it,_ ” V slurs. He doesn’t understand what he’s really saying, not with his head feeling full of cotton. It’s impossible to sift through it, to try and find a singular thought amidst the full-body sensation of fuzziness diluting every neural feedback loop he receives, but the bleeding stain of arousal coming through is quite recognizable even amongst the muffle.

His chide response rewards him with the feeling of Johnny’s fingers brushing over his hole, then pushing in. In such an artificially relaxed state, his body handles the intrusion of two digits with no problem, although Johnny has half the mind to voice his thoughts about whether it not it was merely practice that allowed it. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth however as he sinks in to the knuckle, busy admiring how snug and silky-soft V’s body is around him.

“Watch that mouth,” Johnny warns lowly, “because I just might.”

Silverhand is tiptoeing around it, what they’re both hinting at, as he’s found himself too nervous to jump headfirst into the bases of intimacy leading into a homerun just yet. Astonishingly, he’s trying to play it slow, both for V’s sake as he hardly seems present in his intoxication, and for himself. He’s trying to savor it, lest V snap to his senses and realize just how much pressure he’s putting on Johnny’s current relationships.

Not that Kerry would care. Hell, he might take up the offer if extended to him to join in. Rogue, however… stays territorial. Not mad at the good samaritan that finds her mutt wandering the street, but at the dog that left the yard. 

Johnny was risking his own hide just for that taste of forbidden fruit. V was just the apple.

Uncoordinated, V tries to push his hips down onto Johnny’s hand. Unthinkingly, he noses at Johnny’s throat in a gesture that resembles a nuzzle almost, before he follows the impulse generated by his lips ghosting over that prominent adam’s apple he loves to watch bob and dip with laughter. Pressing an open kiss to it, he drifts to his pulse where he suckles. Soft and kittenish.

Craning his head to the side, he allows the heady exploration of his body as V’s attention suddenly takes a turn. Clumsy hand comes up to cup his jaw, holding him close, while his elbow hooks onto the arm of the couch. He drags upright, disregarding the sudden loss between his legs as Johnny is forced to steady him. Too focused on the rockstar beneath him, getting his lips over the other’s.

Not an ounce of struggle shows, even as V manhandles the rockerboy into different positions. It certainly erases any doubt that lurked in the corners of his mind, about whether or not what he was doing counted as an act of breaching consent, worried that he would be absolutely burning down any trust built between them as easy as fire to paper.

Hitting the uncomfortably stiff couch cushions with a puff, Johnny blinks up at the street kid as they finally disconnect for breath. He can’t help the little smile that plays across his lips, looking up at V. He’s haloed by the television’s blue light and front-lit by the dollar store lamp behind his head. It makes him look almost angelic in his drugged-up, sleazy, postmodern glory.

“You look stupid,” V says bluntly. He’s grinning lopsidedly.

“Don’t feel it,” Johnny says. Could never feel stupid when he’s committing to a decision like this. He has never felt so sure about something in his life, even despite all the mental hang-ups. V was more than just a consenting participant, seeing as he’s leading the show now, and Rogue?

He’ll deal with it later. She doesn’t need to know.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Get all fuckin’... _soft,”_ V says, although his words aren’t serious. He’s dragging his eyes over Johnny’s face, analyzing him and the marked gentleness displayed across his features. Even he can see just how mushy and pliant Johnny has gotten from up on cloud nine. 

“Not my fault,” Johnny says with a shrug. His palms slide up V’s thighs as they start to rock in his lap. Encouraging him to grind down, finding that perfect groove between his thighs that frames his cock just right.

“Look like you’re in love with me.”

“I can be mean,” Johnny says, and it’s sharper than he wanted. A reflex against such a statement—because love? Not in a trillion years. Johnny Silverhand doesn’t _love_. But somehow, V has held him down and opened him up, exposing the softest, most tender parts of him with such ease. 

He really is a sucker for this kid.

The growling snap makes V still for just a moment as a frown tugs his lips.

“No. It’s, ah…” V trails off, his fingers splaying out over Johnny’s chest, kneading his shirt until he decides to push it up and out of the way. “It’s different, like… I’m special.”

“C’mere,” Johnny puffs softly, pushing V’s hips up until he’s raised, “lemme make you feel special.”

That ditzy, dazed smile plays across V’s lips again as he’s guided into stripping his shorts and underwear. Johnny’s too good at maneuvering the offensive garments off his legs, easily flicking them off the side of the couch. The nip of the chilly air makes him shiver, coupled with curious hands groping the meat of his ass and spreading him to tease his cunt. The grin falls into a moan as Johnny trails a single finger through his folds, splitting them and catching the ample slick leaking from his weakly begging hole.

Johnny’s breathless just looking at V. The moment he laid eyes on his cunt he felt his cock throb angrily in his jeans where it’s being denied. Not this time. There are still lingering reservations pertaining to Rogue’s righteous jealousy in the back of his mind, but he rationalizes his actions easily.

It’s not cheating if it’s oral.

Leading the street kid higher, onto his chest, higher, he coaxes V into hovering over his face. He simply drinks in the sight of V in his entirety— pretty cunt, pretty cock, _everything._

The hot breath washing over his sensitive skin makes V pant, a shiver tingling up his spine as the anticipation gnaws at him. Can’t remember the last time he got eaten out, and doesn’t even remember if he’s ever had the pleasure of being high while it was happening. It heightens everything, every micro-action louder than the entire city in the small space, every minute shift of Johnny’s hands on his thighs feeling as though he was the world being shifted in space.

A groan slips past Johnny’s lips as he dives in, broad tongue lapping over his nub before suckling. No hesitation, no idling, he gets to it like a starved man at a feast. For it, he’s rewarded with a sweet moan, airy and soft as it floats through the apartment. V’s thighs already tremble where they’re working to hold himself upright, considerate in trying not to suffocate the rockerboy— as if that’s not exactly what Johnny wants.

Pulling at V until he was properly seated on his face, his hand comes down to work his belt open in a frenzy of unparalleled hunger. The heavy musk of V’s sex, of sweat and raw pheromones, and the salty-sweet tang of his slick spreading over his tongue and filling his mouth make Johnny near-lightheaded with sheer arousal. 

Freeing himself from his fly, he holds his cock steady where it freely leaks precum like overwhelmed tears. Doesn’t fuck his fist even as his hips twitch instinctively, nor does he grant himself a few pumps of relief, his cock simply pulses and jumps in his palm. He can jerk off whenever he wants, but getting V to sit on his face is novel, a rare occasion he doesn’t want to squander.

Eyes fluttering open, he looks up at V to catch him gnawing his bottom lip raw, eyelids hooded and brows furrowed. He has twisted his shirt up, pulled it to his lips to brush against the spit-shiny flesh as he fights down unabashed moans. Trying to fight the primal desire to buck his hips into Johnny’s mouth and fuck his tongue, not get too ahead of himself.

Johnny does away with that reservation, changing gears from lightly suckling at the tip of his cock to bobbing his head, swallowing the short length greedily with gratuitous noises and low groans. The mechanical hand still on his ass spurs him to give in to his baser desires, to do as he wanted with Johnny’s mouth a mere tool for his pleasure.

Immediately, a hand threads into his hair to hold him steady. Johnny simply allows his eyes to fall shut, anticipation as hot in his veins as the arousal pooled and molten in his guts.

Biting his shirt, keeping it up and out of the way, V leans against the couch cushions for leverage as he starts to roll his hips into Johnny’s mouth. In his drugged stupor, his rhythm is shaky, erratic, and off, but neither care as it steadily builds into a rabid chase for release. Tongue furled around the underside of his cock, cheeks hollowing as he suckles with the desperate humping, Johnny blissfully lets his mouth get used as a toy with a happy groan.

Little moans and whimpers escape V as he fervidly chases his end, tugging at Johnny’s hair hard enough to make it ache in his jaw in a bid to keep the rockerboy in place. He rewards the rough treatment with a low note, hips raising off the couch without a thought as he pinches the base of his cock. Slowly, he starts to pump his cock in a tight fist, working himself over at his own pace as V stumbles towards his own release. 

He knows he shouldn’t let it go any further than this, that this is already crossing far too many lines in Rogue’s playbook, but that thought of getting himself between V’s thighs, intimately feeling his eager hole wrapped around his cock, milking him for all he’s worth, is too tantalizing. Will likely gut him just for this, merely for the fact that he didn’t ask for permission first. 

Next time, is what he settles on telling himself, a mantra of slipping self-restraint in his pleasure-addled head. Next time. 

For now, he just focuses on the way V’s hips stutter and how he pitches forward with a reedy whine. So close, but exhaustion has seized his body, the tranquilizer coupled with physical exertion making it impossible for him to continue on his own. Panting through his teeth, he groans his vexation to the world, his cock throbbing against Johnny’s tongue.

The sliver of attention he allowed to wander south shifts back to V and his pleasure, his release paramount to everything else. Easily, he parts with a kiss to the base of V’s cock before both of his hands come to maneuver the younger once again. Body slackened with exertion, V goes easily, shifting and turning over with the insistent guidance of Johnny’s hands until he’s laying on his belly, face right up against the rockerboy’s arousal.

First time he’s gotten a good look at it outside what his mind has conjured from the glimpses of his bulge in boxers and sweatpants. Eyes widening a little, entirely forgetting what he was fixated on just a moment ago, he takes in the sight. The fact that Johnny is painfully hard, cock glistening with copious precum, and visibly throbbing because of V makes his head swim and his stomach roll with butterflies. Weird, perverse butterflies that make his heart flutter.

Johnny has stilled, hands settled on V’s thighs, watching for a reaction. Can’t help with almost pained groan as V wraps his hand around the base of his length and laps at the head. Head tipping back and falling against the couch, he simply revels in the curious little kisses and kitten-licks as V familiarizes himself with Johnny’s cock, taking his time wading through the drug-induced sludge in his brain. 

“Fuck,” Johnny breathes, vowels dragging out as V takes him into his mouth and easily takes half his length in one go. Paced bobs of his head, tongue working over his slit each time he surfaces for air, almost make Johnny forget what he was supposed to be doing in favor of enjoying himself.

With a jump, V moans around the cock in his mouth and bodily sags in unadulterated bliss as Johnny shoves his tongue back between his legs with a mission. No place else he wanted to be— comfortably high, floating through his own mind like a rock hurtling through space peacefully, with a cock filling his mouth and an eager tongue licking him open. 

His thighs squeeze Johnny’s shoulders as the rockerboy catches his cock in his mouth and picks up right where he left off. Warning him that he won’t last much longer. Moans result in moans as they divest all their attention into each other in a lazy competition to see who will break first. It’s a loss from the beginning for V, who feels the starts of his orgasm tickle up his spine and freeze his hips as he trembles and reflexively tenses.

Pulling off Johnny’s cock to pant, he needily pushes his ass back against Johnny, who takes it in stride. Doubling down his efforts, he can feel his climax take over through the pulsing of his cock against his tongue as he keens brokenly. 

In his haze, V mindlessly mouths at Johnny’s cock. Really, everything he does is mindless now. Too doped up on hormones and adrenaline and drugs to think of much else other than pleasing the man beneath him now that he’s had his fill. Still twitching in his afterglow, he takes Johnny once more. Only stopping when his throat bulges with Johnny’s length, he draws up halfway and heavy-handily pats the other’s thigh. _Your turn._

Johnny takes the hint and shallowly bucks his hips, testing V’s limits. Finding none, seeing as the drugs have made his body perfectly pliant and V only happily moans around him, he caves into his own chase. No reservations attached, he starts to steadily fuck V’s throat, heels digging into the couch cushions for leverage. It’s not everyday that he gets a pretty boy happy to choke on his cock, and he’s not about to let the opportunity go to waste.

V’s voice is going to be absolutely wrecked come tomorrow, as Johnny all but fucks his face, his cock making his throat ache so wonderfully and his head positively swim. If only Johnny could see the near-dreamy look in V’s eyes, clouded with tears in his waterline, with pupils blown wide in his twin highs. Heaven on earth.

“S-shit, V—” Johnny starts before grunting, unable to stop himself before he’s spilling his load down V’s throat. Already keyed up from the light fondling and teasing, it didn’t take long to bring him to release— almost embarrassingly quick if it weren’t for the fact that he didn’t care and neither does V. 

Without warning, there’s no other option but to swallow it all. Twitching in his throat, V stiffens and pulls off until only the head rests between his lips, making sure to catch every last drop. And just to make sure, he milks Johnny’s cock with his hand, root to tip with a teasing squeeze under the head that makes the rockerboy’s leg kick in overwhelming euphoria.

“Jesus,” Johnny pants, sweeping the hair that has fallen into his face before patting V’s thigh. “I didn’t… Did you…?”

Shuffling off and basically throwing himself against the opposing arm of the couch, V blinks at him with a lop-sided grin.

“Fuck, kid,” Johnny swears, chest heaving where he swallows lungfuls of air. His face is slick from V, beard matted down and lips shiny and red from the abuse. The sudden attention to himself makes him aware of the mess, and he wipes it off before carelessly wiping it on the side of the couch. Expected nothing less from him, and V doesn’t bat an eye. Lazily waving a hand in his direction, then pointing to a pack of cigarettes on the coffee table, Johnny huffs a laugh through his nose before reaching out and grabbing the box for him.

“Should do this more,” V says, voice scratchy and dipping into a new range. Johnny chucks the pack at him, and rolls his eyes when the uncoordinated and high man fails to catch it, landing in the couch cushions instead of his hands.

“Mhm,” Johnny hums, glancing at the clock on the wall as V plucks a cigarette and lights it with a satisfied sigh. Couple hours, maybe, but Rogue isn’t known for sticking around to the end of shows.

Gaze rolling back to V, taking him in in all his post-orgasmic glory, he settles on the couch. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do with himself, with this little budding relationship, and what he’s going to say to Rogue and Kerry when they inevitably find out he’s caught an interest in yet another person. 

While an instated open polycule, it’s still cheating because he didn’t discuss this beforehand, and now it feels more like he’s a kid bracing to ask his parents if he can keep the puppy he’s been feeding and letting into the house while they’re away.

V’s cute and sweet. Certainly trained well, it seems. Rogue is fond of him, and Kerry is just as affectionate with V as he is with Johnny when they all get onto the couch, half-drunk and blitzed. It’s not so much a question of _“can we keep him?”_ as it is an apology for not asking first.

He waves for the pack to be thrown back at him, needing his own cigarette to mentally prepare for his apology speech when they get home because he expects V to stick around. Gonna tear the bandaid off fast, and perhaps having a sleepy, high, half-dressed man present will lessen any yelling that may arise.

Whatever. What happens will blow over in a week.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Rogue binds Johnny, Kerry takes it upon himself to kiss wetly at V’s neck— softer than Johnny ever would. The sharp angles of his teeth lightly scrape at the sensitive skin but leave no mark. Kerry grabs a good handful of V’s ass and squeezes, combatting the stare of pure hatred Johnny’s burning into him.
> 
> “So fuckin’ pretty,” Ker praises softly, hands exploring. His cock fills out as the street kid experimentally grinds against him through his sweats, earning him a harsher breath against his ear as the weight of their arrangement settles in. 
> 
> “Dunno why Johnny thought he could keep you to himself. Can’t wait to see you bouncin’ on my cock.”
> 
> “And mine,” Rogue hums, casting one last glance towards the bassist currently trying to squirm back to comfort. Already straining at his bonds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: cock, cunt, folds, hole used for V

Whatever happened when Kerry and Rogue came home was a blur of semi-consciousness and lack of attention, V too busy enjoying his high and afterglow’s tug into sleep to really pay any mind to the quiet conversation happening in the kitchen. 

All he remembers is blearily opening his eyes to Kerry’s look of surprise and Rogue’s astonishingly nonplussed reaction to seeing them tangled together. V covered with a blanket with his shorts and underwear on full display next to the couch, Johnny looking pleased as punch— they were the stereotype of debauchery. 

What he does know is that Johnny hasn’t asked him over for the three days afterward. A new record, seeing as the rockerboy had been dogging him to spend all his off-hours at their apartment, to the point that jokes of him moving in have become common. Little teases about paying rent being deflected by pointing how much he gives Johnny every week for his fixes and half-joking orders to clean the living room space up after yet another bender.

Getting the text to come over that evening is a surprise. V had made his bed and laid with the idea that he had ruined his relationship with all three of them. That he would have to find another plug and another group to hang with. 

The silly elation he feels when gets the text and the speed at which he sheds his work uniform is almost embarrassing if it didn’t come second place to his relief.

Something simple. He didn’t need to feel like he’d be watched simply for what he was wearing. He already knows that he’d have an eye kept on him and Johnny for the little stunt they pulled in their absence.

Johnny answers the door within ten seconds of him knocking. Nothing abnormal; he tends to linger around the door when expecting V. What is a shock is the look on his face; avoidant gaze skirts around him as he steps aside and shuts the door behind V. He’s guarded, keeping his tone even as he mutely greets the street kid and walks back over to the couch. 

The nagging worry that he’s fucked something up sets deep into his bones again and he can’t help as his smile slips from his face. 

Despite the sour mood the bassist seems to have fallen into, the other two are happy to see him. Following behind the rockerboy, he’s greeted warmly by both Kerry and Rogue. 

“‘Ey, V! Sorry we didn’t catch ya last time,” Kerry chirps, patting the space beside him as though he were inviting a finicky cat up to cuddle. He very well could be, seeing as V hovers by the recliner chair set adjacent to the sofa before taking another step forward. Toeing off his shoes by the coffee table, V settles between Rogue and Kerry.

“Show was a total bust anyway,” Rogue sighs, having an arm lifted up in preparation for V. Not odd, but very unexpected seeing as V has been anticipating cold anger or resentment towards him. V accepts the offering and scoots into her warmth. The bodily contact and heat returning to him thaws the chunk of ice freezing his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

“‘S all good,” V says with a minute shrug, “hope you didn’t have to pay much to be disappointed.” 

Rogue scoffs and shoots him a little smirk.

“As if we paid.”

V’s apprehension melts as he cracks a smile up at her and slots a little closer to her side. Rogue hugs him to her body. 

Johnny settles back on the end of the couch with a little huff. Whatever had transpired between the three appears to only have lasting effects on Johnny, whether that was a tighter leash or simple residual irritation for the very-possible scolding he received. V’s content to relax and let the bassist sit and stew in whatever was bothering him as long as he can properly enjoy the company of Kerry and Rogue. A rarity with all their different schedules and drastically separate lives.

After a few scenes in the sitcom they were watching with glazed eyes and absent attention, Kerry speaks up.

“Dunno what you remember…”

“Not much,” V says sheepishly. He already begins fidgeting anxiously with his hands. Small ticks, just running his fingernails beneath each other and pinching the tips as he watches Kerry pause for a moment.

“Didn’t think you would remember a lot, you were pretty gone by the time we got home,” he says easily. Kerry has a lax smile played across his features, helping to ease the looming dread rising up to V’s throat from where it had fermented in his guts for days. 

“Relax, kid,” Rogue chuckles as she squishes him to her body in a placating gesture, “we’re not mad at you.”

V nods meekly, glancing between the two. Johnny still has his eyes glued to the screen, completely blocking out their conversation— or at least trying to. He’s visibly tightening and relaxing his jaw in an effort to bite his tongue.

“Nah,” Kerry reassures, “only because I missed out.” It’s punctuated with a wink, and heat rises to V’s cheeks. He quickly averts his gaze as Kerry chuckles, clearly enjoying the little game he’s playing. Rogue rolls her eyes at the man, her thumb idly petting V’s clavicle where her hand is thrown over his shoulder.

“Fucking sleaze,” she huffs. 

“We talked. You didn’t do anything wrong.  _ Johnny _ ,” Rogue stops and throws her head in his direction with a pointed glare, “did.”

The rockerboy grumbles under his breath and it results in Kerry’s elbow between the ribs. He settles down again with the look of a kicked dog, sulking and glowering at the actors on screen.

While the freedom of guilt is a relief in and of itself, it still doesn’t itch the burning question in the back of his mind. 

_ Can I do it again?  _

Just because Kerry and Rogue don’t blame him for getting the head of a lifetime doesn’t mean it’s legal in their court. He just doesn’t know how to properly ask the judges whether or not he can commit the same offense and still get off scot-free.

The question roils away inside of him quietly, distracting him from the show and conversation alike. It eats at him until he finds himself suddenly starting to ask, cutting himself short just as the first syllable leaves his lips. 

Both Kerry and Rogue glance at him, questioning looks plain on their faces. It makes V want to sink into the couch cushions and disappear, but the arm around his shoulder prevents him from hiding. And simply waving their attention away won’t work, knowing how nosy the two can be.

“So…”

The silence as he tries to formulate his thoughts into a cohesive sentence kills his confidence, burning it to nothing as easy as a stray ember in a drought.

“Does this mean…” V trails off again, desperately hoping that they can simply infer what he’s trying to say and don’t make him spit it out and face rejection head-on.

“Yeah,” Kerry says simply, cutting Rogue off as she opens her mouth. He gets a halfhearted glare for it, and he meekly gestures for her to continue. 

“As long as Johnny shares.” 

It’s said so matter-of-factly that it leaves V blinking, bewildered. Still no word from Johnny.

“Shares?” V repeats. Rogue again tries to say something only to have the smaller man tugged away from her side by Kerry. A common theme, it seems, but Rogue doesn’t seem at all bothered this time around. She releases him and enjoys an expression of surprise widen V’s eyes as he’s all but hauled onto Kerry’s lap, ensnared by arms circling his torso.

“What’s his is ours,” Kerry grins before pressing a peck to V’s shoulder. 

That’s the straw that breaks Johnny’s thinning patience. He rises in an instant and storms off to the kitchen in a tizzy of silent fury. 

V watches him go, feeling lost and swimming in a sea of countless questions. It’s all so nonchalant— how easily they accepted Johnny’s cheating and came to the decision to not only welcome V back into their apartment but invite him into their tight-knit unit. 

He’s almost drowning in confusion; conflictions and apprehension arising as Kerry relaxes back into the couch cushions, and hugs V like a teddy bear. Rogue slides over and fills the gap between them until V is warmed from almost every side.

Distantly, he hears a beer crack open. Johnny has chosen to pout in the kitchen, mourning the loss of his personal plaything to his outputs.

The tension slowly ebbs out of him as it processes over the course of a few reruns, casual comments on the show, and the occasional shift in position. Kerry winds up on his back, staring at his phone over V’s shoulder as the smaller man hugs his chest. Rogue has found comfort between their thighs, her own beneath theirs with her hands running up and down V’s leg. 

Cozy, the space warm with easy domesticity and contentment. It’s hard to stay on-edge, looking for ulterior motives when everyone is happy doing their own thing.

“I just don’t see—” Johnny speaks idly to himself, still isolated in the alcove of the kitchen. Lowers his voice when he realizes how loud he’s being, loud enough for his tantrum to carry over into the environment of the living room. Sets the can down harsher than necessary, the resulting clatter dramatic enough to make Rogue’s eyes roll. 

“He’ll get over himself soon,” Kerry comforts, his fingers carding through V’s short-cropped hair. “He’s getting his licks for it. He’ll be lucky if either of us let him cum for a month.”

A semblance of a chuckle bubbles in V’s chest, uncertain whether or not it was a joke. Knowing how strict Rogue tends to be with her boundaries, it’s equally as likely to be true as it is an exaggeration.

The mental image of Johnny so forcibly repressed, undoubtedly begging and whining in his own uniquely bratty way, gives rise to another wave of blushing, but it’s indiscernible in the blue glow of the television. Must have gotten the verbal lashing of a lifetime, if he has the mind to excuse himself to the other room to quietly meltdown. 

The comfortable silence is only interrupted again a handful of minutes later, as the earthy-acrid scent of Johnny’s next impending high floats into the space, followed by the man himself silently crossing in front of the TV to settle on the smaller loveseat. Pointedly not pressed up against his partners anymore. 

There’s a silent communication that takes place— a series of exchanged expressions between him and Rogue— and eventually, he sighs. 

“I already said I was sorry. What do you want from me?”

“An apology to V.”

“V—”

“No. Like we talked about.”

The street kid shoots a glance at Rogue. Has no clue what’s about to happen. 

“Johnny agreed to be your toy for the night. Whatever you want him to do, no questions asked.”

“If you want us to join, that’s your call,” Kerry chimes in, eagerly watching V’s face for any indication either way. The lopsided pull of a smirk hides nothing— it’s clear which option he prefers, but he wouldn’t do anything to force him in a particular direction. 

It’s Johnny’s turn to catch a hint of color in his cheeks. He shuffles in his pocket for his phone, pretending to be suddenly invested in something, if only to avoid meeting V’s gaze as it turns back on him. 

A whirlpool of emotions whip into a frenzy inside V’s chest. The hungry look not unlike an excited dog that Kerry’s watching him with, Rogue with her coy grin tugging the corner of her lip up, and the displacement of Johnny amongst all of this.

Sulking, stoned, and obstinate, Silverhand ignores the three as V chews over his options carefully. He’s not pushing his case very effectively as he sits and pouts to himself halfway across the small room, and isn’t doing himself any favors in pushing V’s inclination towards him. The little gnaw of anxiety is placated with his return from the kitchen, however, like light shining on a nest of rats eating away at the framework of a home. Somehow soothing, just being present.

The other two seemed more than enthusiastic, eagerly listening for the word to spur them into action and get their hands on V. 

Monogamy is all V’s known in his dating life, although he has been open to more complex relationships. Just never had the chance to try it out. And as long as it doesn’t harm what he and Johnny have together, he’s willing to give anything a shot before he decides it isn’t for him.

It was agreed upon in his absence that Johnny would share, and the flashbulb memory brings a thought into his head, born from the slight stirring in his gut at the notion of making Johnny beg. Inspired by Kerry’s teasing comment about restricting him. 

“Want him to watch,” V says, hushed and soft and more to the man beneath him than the man across the room. Kerry takes his implicit permission to heart. Already his phone is being turned off and tossed without care onto the coffee table.

“What was that?” Rogue asks, having not caught the quiet words. Having to repeat himself makes the deep blush spread to his ears, opting to just settle his head against Kerry’s chest as he tries to fight his tongue and coax his throat to let the words pass through once more.

“Johnny gets to watch,” Kerry projects in the absence of repetition. V burrows under Kerry’s chin to hide, not daring to look at Johnny as he feels Kerry’s hands grow bold and start to run up and down his ribs. Firmer, markedly less friendly and much more sensuous than any touch he’s felt under the comparatively sweeter man’s hands.

The bassist starts to say something, but it is swiftly cut off by Rogue, who has been carefully watching Johnny the moment the situation grew to a boiling point. Looking for the spillover, where Johnny cannot keep his cool anymore.

“Want me to tie him up, V?” Rogue says evenly, pinning Johnny in place with a stare that speaks cruel authority, “he’s not good at sharing.”

All V can do is shrug, concentrating on the warm creep of Kerry’s palm towards the swell of his ass. He feels Kerry nod above him, followed by Rogue untangling from their legs.

“Don’t move,” she orders Johnny, who merely glowers at her. His phone has joined the others on the coffee table, betraying his interest despite the facade of reluctance. 

Kerry takes a moment to switch off the TV, wanting no distraction from the moment. 

Superficially, V worries that making Johnny watch and not participate will make him bitter and resentful, but deep down he knows the man is too stubborn to let go of him over such a thing. Especially since he knew what he was getting both of them into when he invited him over all those nights ago. 

Within a few moments, Rogue returns from the depths of her bedroom with the soft rope in hand. In this state, he couldn’t care whether or not he has burns reminding him of their encounter, but he’ll care for weeks to come if they begin to disrupt their practice. 

Johnny shifts forward without an order from Rogue, knowing well that fighting it would only end with him being barred from the room. He’d be allowed only to listen in as they take V apart— if that.

He hauls himself up from his seat in resigned obedience, turning to present his arms behind his back like a prisoner. The rope easily slides into place with Rogue’s copious practice in restraining Silverhand. She rewards him with a quick and dirty squeeze of his ass before shoving him back in the direction of the chair, leaving it to him to right himself again. 

He’s already pathetically hard, bulging out the front of his pants. More a mere unconscious reaction, automatic training that being good would be followed up with his release, than anything borne of stimulation.

As Rogue binds Johnny, Kerry takes it upon himself to kiss wetly at V’s neck— softer than Johnny ever would. The sharp angles of his teeth lightly scrape at the sensitive skin but leave no mark. 

Kerry grabs a good handful of V’s ass and squeezes, combatting the stare of pure hatred Johnny’s burning into him.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” Ker praises softly, hands exploring. His cock fills out as the street kid experimentally grinds against him through his sweats, earning him a harsher breath against his ear as the weight of their arrangement settles in. 

“Dunno why Johnny thought he could keep you to himself. Can’t wait to see you bouncin’ on my cock.”

“And mine,” Rogue hums, casting one last glance towards the bassist currently trying to squirm back to comfort. Already straining at his bonds. “Think I should do his legs, too?”

“No,” Johnny huffs. Earns him empty laughter from Rogue. 

“What made you think I was talking to you?”

“It’s V’s call tonight,” Kerry reminds him. Nudges the man atop him gently to prompt an answer, kissing at his jaw before he can get the words out. 

“Nah. Give him a chance,” V sighs. Never has he been in such a dominant position, vicariously or otherwise. Hasn’t had the chance to develop his vocabulary, nor the confidence the other two share easily. “Might be able to catch a little friction if he’s kneeling.”

“Dom-in-training, huh? Gonna give Rogue a run for her money someday?”

“Don’t think so,” V says. Melting like snow in the sun beneath Rogue’s chuckle. “She looks like she knows what she’s doing better than me.”

“I do,” she affirms, settling back between their thighs. The new bulge in her casual sweats, appearing coincidentally as she slipped off to grab the rope, presses against him, fitting snugly in the seam of his jeans. He’d deny it if pressured, but he flinches with a stifled gasp at the stimulation-stoked coil of arousal swimming in his guts.

“Gonna take care of you,” she says sweetly, pressing a kiss to his skin as her hands slide along his ribs and under his chest. Helping him and Kerry disconnect, she draws him to her chest, easing him into her touches. Her hands, contrastingly softer than Kerry’s and especially more than Johnny’s, roam his body over his shirt before edging under the hem of his tee.

The moment his torso is exposed, Kerry’s hands join Rogues in worship. They explore the planes of his stomach, following the curve of his hip bones and up his back along with the lithe definition of muscle. Kerry catches several little tattoos, mere stick-and-poke pictures new and old, and his thumb brushes over one of them in endeared reverence. 

“Pretty boy,” he breathes, sitting up and presses a kiss to a small tattoo beneath the scarring of V’s pec before his mouth migrates. Kissing his chest and teasing his nipple with a chaste peck before he kisses further south.

Rogue continues the gentle petting, acting more as a soothing touch than one driving hunger through to his very bones. It’s grounding and very much appreciated. The attention dizzies him as he watches Kerry kiss south of his navel and toy with the belt loops of his jeans.

“Let’s getcha out of these, hm?” Kerry says, the implication of a request for permission expertly woven into his tone. Eases the lingering nerves making V jump and flinch with more adventurous touches.

Nodding curtly, a frantic little movement, V swallows heavily as he watches Kerry’s fingers deftly undo his button and fly. Kerry peels away to study V’s face for a moment as Rogue works behind him, and the look in his eyes makes V’s blush creep down his collarbones.

His eyes are darkened with hunger, pupils blown wide in the shadow of V’s vulnerability. Chuckling as V can only blink at him, face stuck in an expression of wonderment and arousal. His tongue darts out to wet his lip before grinning.

“I just know you’re gonna  _ sing,”  _ Kerry coos. V can’t stop the little noise that comes from his throat at that, heart thumping away in his ears and pounding through his veins.

An agitated noise off to the side draws V’s attention, and he can’t help but throw a look at Johnny. He’s relaxed somewhat, clearly displeased and unimpressed with Kerry’s dirty talk, with his shoulders still drawn up and tense. Legs splayed, V’s eyes snap to the prominence in his jeans, and the attention makes Johnny preen with a conceited smirk. Where his hands are bound, forbidding him from touching himself, he offers a little show in how he rolls his hips and sighs at the minute friction he manages to catch from his jeans.

For his wandering gaze, Rogue redirects V by slowly grinding the bulge of her strap against him. He hadn’t paid attention to his jeans sliding down to mid-thigh, but the feeling of her cock pressing against his lightly-clothed heat brings him back to the present with a fluttering sigh.

“There he is,” Kerry says cheekily, falling back onto the couch with a puff as Rogue eases V onto his belly in order to free his legs. 

Johnny bites his tongue. Fighting down the instinctual urge to lash at Kerry and snap at Rogue. A fit of carnal anger rears its ugly head, forcing him to breathe deep through his nose to settle it. Possessive. He flexes his arms against the binds, biceps burning against the rope that has had the protective layer worn off in the prolonged struggles against it.

Didn’t think of himself as a jealous man, having not been one to hold onto people long and not care about them leaving, seeing as they were no more than a means to his selfish ends. But with V— he has to close his eyes for a moment to simply settle his nerves before he says something stupid. Being bound is one thing, but warranting a gag is just humiliating.

Clad in just briefs, V feels overly-exposed in juxtaposition to Rogue and Kerry, both still adorned head-to-toe in their clothes. It makes him feel as if he were a toy, something to be played with, and he finds himself reveling in that feeling. An easy sensation of being desired, not something he’d typically chase, being more accustomed to the rough handling and treatment of crueler partners.

That’s what drew him to Johnny in a primal sense, seeking to scratch that itch like an animal scrounging for something as essential as food or water. Felt more like a need than anything. Kerry provides a perfect blend of selfish and serving, while Rogue eases him into it like wading into a cold lake. Lets him keep his comfortable bubble of familiarity while exposing him to the new experiences, soon to release him into this new tank that is their unit.

Rogue delicately shifts her hands up to V’s biceps, lightly restraining him without rendering him incapable of pulling away. She leans in, breath hot against V’s shoulder, watching Kerry shift to mouth at the hardness just barely pushing against the soft fabric. 

V squirms under the renewed attention, causing Kerry to initially back off— at least until he can see it was a squirm of pleasure rather than one of discomfort. He hums against the musk of his sex. 

“Let’s see if it’s as good as Johnny says,” Kerry hums to no one in particular, hands easing into his waistband as he helps shed that last layer obscuring V from the three of them. The boxers are slipped off with ease and cast off blindly to the side. Just so happening to land at Johnny’s feet. 

Following its arc naturally, V briefly locks eyes with the forcibly submissive man. Notes the hungry glint in his eyes as he keeps silent. They share the briefest of smiles until Kerry takes initiative and slots his head between V’s thighs and his expression is tied up into one of surprise. 

The very first lap of his tongue is met with a full-bodied shudder, soothed by Rogue as her hand dips low. The gentle fingers work his cock slowly as Eurodyne noses into his folds, licking his way deeper. Unabashed in his pursuit of V’s pleasure. 

“You’ll look so pretty on our cocks,” Rogue praises idly. “Ever taken two at once?”

V nods dumbly, all he’s capable of doing with the vocalist expertly working between his legs. Groans openly as his tongue dips shallowly into his hole. 

Rogue huffs a chuckle and nods. “‘Course. Johnny likes ‘em experienced.”

The man, now distracted with the slightest gratification offered by rolling his hips against the exaggerated seam of his jeans, perks up at the utterance of his name. Unconsciously, a nag of dread, fearing that Rogue noticed his sly workaround, rips through his head. Only smoothed over when he realizes she isn’t even sparing him so much as a glance. 

Arousal eagerly works tighter and tighter as Kerry leans into him, generating obscene noises as he works with the pooling slick. A finger joins the stimulation, subtle at first until the second knuckle brushes against his sweet spot. 

“Like that?” Rogue purrs, slowly drawing her own fingers root-to-tip. Borderline teasing were she not putting adequate pressure to send jolts to V’s belly. 

“Yeah,” the street kid breathes, face slack. 

“Can see why Johnny couldn’t stop himself. Such a pretty cunt,” she praises. “Can’t wait to ruin it.”

Johnny snaps at the bit at that. V is  _ his _ find,  _ his _ catch. He was reluctantly willing to let Kerry treat him to his tongue— if only for V’s pleasure— but  _ he _ should be the one to take him first. Stretch him out on the length of his cock and fill him up right. Not the scavengers on the couch. 

“Don’t,” he warns, anger flaring up now like a snake ready to strike. Lurching forward onto the edge of his seat. Consequences be damned. “He’s  _ mine _ .”

All three of them turn their heads to him at once with an array of expressions— from Rogue’s very stern, unamused glare as she pauses, to V’s deer-in-headlights look as the possessive snarl registers in his favor, to Kerry’s easy smile, smeared with V’s slick.

With a muffled noise of loss, Rogue’s fingers leave V’s heat. She slips from the couch once more and crosses the space over to Johnny. Even in the face of discipline for speaking against his dominant, Johnny holds his snarl steady, not losing it for a second as Rogue fists his hair and wrenches his head back.

“You listen to  _ me _ , or you don’t get to watch,” she hisses down to him, and something about being an implied privilege makes V’s heart flutter like a trapped bird. She holds him up high, something to be earned and respected, not taken for granted.

Not that Johnny’s treated him otherwise, has been nothing but sweet on him. But hearing off his reputation as a narcissistic heartbreaker, he gets the sense that Rogue is merely discouraging his bad behavior preemptively, not wanting their V to have his feelings torn apart and stomped on by the rockerboy and his inflated ego.

“ _ Fuck _ you _. _ ”

V’s breath hitches and holds in his chest, watching as Rogue sets her jaw. Even Kerry goes still beneath him, his previously amused expression falling flat into a tight-lipped grimace of pity.

Harder than he expected, and certainly harder than he’s ever been struck during sexual play, Rogue slaps with enough force to whip Johnny’s head to the side. 

For a fleeting moment, V worries that it was a genuine act of anger, that he was witnessing a domestic. Then Johnny releases a low groan, hanging in his throat as he squeezes his eyes shut against the sting of his cheek, and that fear settles. Reflexively, Silverhand’s hips rut against empty air, and it makes Rogue scoff.

“Open your mouth,” she orders as she brings his head back to its original position. Glaring daggers at her still, although muted with acute arousal, Johnny obeys, going as far as sticking his tongue out as he knows what comes next.

Spitting in his mouth, Johnny doesn’t even flinch as her saliva mingles with his. 

“The only thing I want to hear is  _ thank you.” _

Both boys on the couch are captivated by the two of them, too entranced to remember each other until Rogue shuts Johnny’s mouth for him and stalks back to the sofa. 

As if nothing happened, she affixes herself to V’s warm back once more with a little sigh, as if putting her feet up after a long day and not crudely disciplining her sub. 

“Didn’t mean to leave you hanging,” she says easily, “just had to take care of something.” 

V blinks numbly at her words, brain churning through sludge as it tries to process just what happened and why he’s absolutely dripping onto Kerry because of it. Even the press of her fingers to his cunt doesn’t snap him out of his little trance, eyes still locked on Johnny.

The rockerboy hangs his head as a rope of drool clinging to his lips stubbornly. His hair is ruffled and hanging in his face, a curtain parted to allow a good look at the cherry-red stain of arousal across his cheeks. Glaring through his lashes, it turns to a sheepish simmering as he realizes V is still watching him.

“Fuckin’ whore for punishment,” Kerry muses to himself, then to V. “I promise we’re nice.” 

It’s said wryly, a little twinkle in his eyes. He emphasizes his words and pushes their meaning with a kiss to V’s cunt, trailing the contact lower until he’s right back to where he was before. 

V feels as though someone cut his vocal cords, unable to say anything at all in his stupor. His heart hammers away as he relishes the treatment. Pampered as though he’s a holy object to be sought after and fought for, all while treated like a pretty plaything and toy. Realistically, it’s more a tug-of-war, not unlike a pack of dogs with a piece of fresh meat, snapping and snarling at each other.

The only certainty in his mind is that it’s clear who the alpha of the pack is, shivering as her fingers spread him for Kerry’s tongue. The three new digits diligently massage his walls and scissor him, compounding with the warm wetness of Eurodyne’s ministrations. 

He jumps with a gasp as Kerry straightens again and fingers move to collect his slick. They slide past Rogue’s hand until he’s circling the tight ring of muscle behind.

“Gotta make sure you’re nice and ready for him,” Rogue says, kissing the shell of his ear. 

“Kinda wanna… break him on my cock,” Kerry says between a groan as he gropes himself through his jeans, “fuck, he’d look so hot.”

“Won’t— won’t be too hard,” Johnny jeers, lips working slowly as he fights to keep Rogue’s punishment from slipping from his mouth and painting his lap. She didn’t say to swallow yet— and he wouldn’t. “Fuckin’ whore. Just wants to open his legs for it.”

Ignored with barbed silence, the rockerboy practically growls. Humping the air pathetically to relieve the ache of his arousal. 

“Dogs don’t speak,” Kerry reminds him, trying to herd him away from the blunt weapon of Rogue’s words. 

“Fuck off,” Johnny snaps. Rabid against his restraints. He tugs at his wrists uselessly, the knot holding steadfast. Holding him hostage as his prize is ripped from him. 

Rogue purses her lips, giving him time to work it out before he’s faced with his punishment. It seems more effective to let him watch, writhe in his frustration as they pick V apart. Make him ride the high they robbed from Johnny. 

“So good, V,” Ker praises, soothing over the filth Johnny’s spilling. He hums gently as his fingertips breach the tight muscle, distracting him from the initial discomfort until it slowly begins to meld into a dull pleasure. “Gonna feel so good.”

Silverhand huffs, letting his frustration be well-known. He never was the best at gracefully taking the punishment, not when his own climax is on the line. 

Easily distracted, mind pulled away from Johnny’s anger-glazed words, V gasps as both sets of hands work to stretch him open. Slow, gentle with his comfort, and thorough. His thighs tremble mightily as his knees struggle to keep him upright. Each time their rhythms match, it sends sparks flying. The press of their fingers together like stubborn lovers inside of him results in a low moan.

Rogue pulls away first, leaving Kerry to play with him all by himself. Eurodyne takes the extra space in stride; looping his arm around V’s waist as his hands steadily work faster. V pants openly, raising his hips into the thrusts of Kerry’s fingers.

“So tight,” Ker mouths against V’s throat, his tone dripping with reverence and hunger like a starving sinner before an angel. V can only whimper, knocking their heads together as the start of his climax tickles up his thighs and seizes his thighs in a lock around Kerry’s waist.

“Enough,” Rogue calls, putting a quick stop to V’s impending release. A whimper of loss follows the sudden emptiness that hollows him, both holes protesting around nothing in the wake of the orgasm that could’ve been.

Retrieving the discreet bottle of lubricant from her pocket while shedding her sweats, Rogue reclines against the arm of the sofa with a comfortable sigh. Her strap stands tall and proud, firmly rooted in place on her body with her cyberware.

_ That  _ kind of dominant. 

The sight alone results in more slick trailing from his folds, enough for him to feel and certainly enough to be noticed by the woman who smirks and gives a couple pumps to show off. The sound of slick on silicone resounds in the room in the absence of all other noises, the temperature of the apartment rising as the main event kicks off.

“C’mere,” she says, her voice soothingly sweet and guiding. While V clambers into position, the bottle is passed off and the sound of Kerry’s fly being undone precedes a throaty groan of relief. His jeans are quickly kicked off and he slicks his cock before he tosses the bottle against the table, careless about the cap, partially-open, dirtying their phones.

Settling with his thighs hugging Rogue’s waist, V stills when her hand holds his hip in place. Hovering over her lap, he flinches and whimpers as Rogue does good by him and smears the excess lube against his holes. No such thing as too much.

“You ready?”

V nods erratically, the muscles of his stomach jumping beneath the warm touch of Rogue’s palm. She steadies him and grips the base of her cock with the other hand, sliding the tip through his folds and netting herself a needy whimper.

The entire room holds its collective breath as she coaxes him into sinking down onto her length. The lube is cold on the silicone and causes him to shudder, making every inch agonizingly noticeable. 

A shaky breath escapes him as his hole greedily swallows her cock, not stopping until he’s seated in her lap and his belly twists itself into knots from the wonderfully intense pressure of being filled out and pushed to his limits in just the right way. Toeing the line of too big, making the very tip delightfully ache where it’s nestled deep inside of him.

“Good boy,” she praises readily, not moving a muscle until V does, “took the whole thing. How’s it feel?”

“G-good,” V manages to eke out, eyebrows knitted together in concentration as he testingly grinds his hips down and teases that excruciating protest of  _ toomuch.  _

“‘Boutta feel even better,” Kerry says coyly. The fat length of his cock nudges against him, warranting a gasp. It slides against the underside of Rogue’s cock and against his hole, toying with his heart as it chugs adrenaline and unbridled lust through his body.

V forces himself to relax when the blunt head of his cock presses against his tight rim. A broad palm settles between his shoulders, guiding him to brace against the couch as he slowly feeds his cock into his hole.

“Relax,” Kerry says, his voice clipped as he sinks into and acclimates to the tight fit. A soothing palm brushes over V’s back and shoulders as Rogue’s hands move to support the younger’s thighs. It would be too mean to leave him impaled to the hilt without relief. 

V attempts to curb their worries, but his words bubble up disorganized and slurred, all of his cognizance devoted to the stretch of taking both of them at the same time. He babbles something incoherent as Eurodyne carefully coaxes him flush to his chest, giving Rogue ample room to move. 

The silent exchange occurs in seconds that feel like eons to the smallest man, and the slightest shift in position makes him painfully aware of his situation. 

The burn of initial penetration is muted as Rogue’s lips meet his, a show of tenderness so stark in comparison to her treatment of the bassist that it makes V’s mind go fuzzy at the edges. Fully whites out for a half-second as the domme starts to slowly roll her hips. 

“Doing so good, babe,” she praises, hands skirting V’s sides as her cock pumps in and out of him, pulling slick out with each movement. “No thinking. Just feel it.”

V does exactly as he’s told, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his pleasure steadily mounts. The additional twitch of Kerry’s length inside him responding to the stimulation is more than enough to make his legs shake uselessly on either side of Rogue’s hips. 

“How’d’ya want it, babe?” Kerry asks, low and sweet against the shell of his ear. 

“Y-yeah,” V says dumbly, not actually hearing the question and rather committing himself to whatever it is Eurodyne was suggesting. 

“Fuckin’ cute,” Kerry then chuckles, rewarding him for the attempt with a handful of kisses. His palms glide along the underside of V’s quivering thighs, hooking beneath his knees and spreading him open for Rogue. 

Rogue rolls her hips, steady and slow. Pulling out almost to the tip before driving back in with some force, she keeps V in place with a firm hold. She can see that the lights may be on, but absolutely no one is home. All higher thinking has been knocked out like a power outage, his eyes hazy and glazed over in the quintessence of euphoria. 

“Want me to be a li’l rougher?” she coos. Simple yes or no questions, allowing him to continue making those gorgeous noises of pleasure all while answering her. 

Nodding fervently, V can’t help the hitching sob that’s fucked out of him when she snaps her hips and drives herself in as deep as she can go before doing it again, building a solid rhythm. Kerry himself voices his approval of the shifting pace, groaning into V’s neck as he can’t control the stuttered bucks of his hips.

The slightest action reminds V of his presence beneath him, having fixated entirely on his cock stretching him out and keeping him peacefully full. With great effort, V manages to collect enough coherent thought together to press his palms against Rogue, feebly pushing beneath her ribs in a signal to stop. 

Immediately, she’s nestled deep in him and still, searching his face for clues about the sudden halt. Seeing nothing but desperate ecstasy and a touch of frustration, she can infer what he wants, having seen the same look on her boys plenty of times before. 

“Wanna move?”

V nods, a curt motion covering his desperate frustration. He needs to feel both of them, needs to feel Kerry’s length absolutely ruining him just as much as he needs to feel Rogue. 

But he’s stubborn. Doesn't want to move in any way that’ll rob him of the heavenly fullness. 

“Ride,” he mumbles. All he can truly come up with, the shortest and most concise thing he can get his tongue to utter. 

Bless Rogue and her experience. He can’t imagine trying to manage this many limbs and body parts without her wisened guidance. Knowing just what to do and what to say, she eases the friction of V’s awkward novelty and helps him acclimate. 

Without forcing V to leave his newfound favorite position, happily on their cocks, she arranges them as best as she can on a couch entirely too small. Comfortable against their respective sides of the couch, Kerry and Rogue lay with their thighs interlocked, groins flush together in a way that permits V to move as he wished without sacrificing one or the other. 

“Happy?” Rogue purrs, watching as V’s face twists up in mindless pleasure as he shakily rolls his hips. His hands are back, braced on Kerry’s chest as he tries to relax into the feeling. 

_ “F—uck...  _ yeah,” he groans, pleasure shooting up his spine as he grinds back against Kerry and forwards onto Rogue. He’s never felt more full in his life, simultaneously comfortable and feeling as though he is being split in half. 

Shakily, he lifts his hips up until both his partners are nearly to the tip before dropping back down. A halting moan escapes him, reedy and feeble as the single action nearly short-circuits him. It’s overwhelming, his entire body trembling and alight with pleasure as their cocks stretch him out, rutting against one another inside of him. 

_ “Oh— f-fuck…” _ V whines, pathetic little whimpers being the only other vocalization he can manage between breathless swears and shrill cries. Even louder— the sounds of slick and sex, both of his holes letting it be well known to the rest of the apartment complex that he’s getting the ride of his life. 

He finds a steady tempo, fucking himself full over and over again with an edge of urgency creeping in. Kerry helps him with his broad palms guiding his hips up and down, gripping his lithe form. Rogue offers support beneath his thighs, prolonging exhaustion from weakening his efforts. 

Just as V starts to lose his voice in ecstasy, keening unashamedly, fully moaning taking too much breath as it’s being punched out of him, Kerry collects V’s hands and pins them to his back. Fully seating them solely on their cocks. 

V groans like a gutted animal, thighs trembling as waves of euphoria crash over him. All he can do is whimper a garbled warning before his climax as his holes ache and pulse against their lengths. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” Ker breathes, barely having to move his hips as V’s hole milks him. His fingers crush against V’s where they hold him in place as he staves off his own orgasm. Has someone new to impress, after all. 

Johnny fumes as he watches, caught in the snare of staggering arousal and exasperating rage. A growl sits low in his throat from his own denial— unable to fill the last hole left open for him. Arguably the most intimate. He can practically feel V’s cries against his length as he chokes him, but the mental stimulation is not near enough for any real outcome. 

“Shut up,” Rogue orders as she tilts her head towards him, fed up with his insubordination. She pins him with a venomous glare. 

Johnny knows she’s in no position to actively punish him, seeing as it’ll strip V of his pleasure, and her little demand does nothing to inhibit him. 

“Piss off,” he snarls, testing the coal-black rope as if it'll suddenly weaken and give under his perseverance. Before he can say anything else, Rogue easily counters him with a snapping laugh like a wolf laughing down a lamb. Cruel and snide.

“You wish you could make V cum this hard,” she taunts, emphasizing her words with a leisurely roll of her hips. It elicits a pitiful mewl, wet with the drool escaping V’s lips and the overwhelmed tears that have begun to well up. It sends another sharp knife of twisted pleasure to his core, her cock pushing both his limits and the taut planes of his belly out. 

“Fuckin’ bitch,” Johnny seethes, grinding his teeth hard enough to make his jaw crick and resound in his sinuses. In the face of his pointed insults, Johnny remains woefully hard and his face bright red where it’s hidden in the curtains of his dark hair. 

“Keep talkin’ and you won’t touch him for a week,” Rogue says flatly before finally turning her attention back to V, if just to gloat. 

Her boyfriends are one in the same— one-track minded on their own cocks at damn near all times. It’s something she’s had to live with and work around as someone who isn’t much of a good receiver. Giving— that is her forte, reaping her partners’ pleasure as her own and being mentally stimulated enough from dominating them to satisfy herself without much physical attention at all. 

Trying to determine what drew Kerry and Johnny— lovingly (and begrudgingly at times) ‘her boys’— to her is a moot point. She has them now and thrives off taking care of them, just as they satisfy her. That includes discipline just as much as it means affection. Someone has to keep Johnny in check, and seeing as he’s still as unruly and crass as he was when they found each other, she has her work cut out for her. 

Her hands run up the sides of V’s stomach, pulled and defined by the arch Kerry’s pulled him into, before her thumbs sweep over the little bulge beneath his naval. 

“I don’t think he’d miss much when he has us,” Kerry speaks up, finally catching his tongue where he had been panting, fending off his orgasm if just to enjoy V’s greedy hole as long as he can. It’s not that he can’t go multiple rounds, but ordinarily, he isn’t balls deep in a pretty boy’s sinfully tight ass with his girlfriend’s cock massaging him where she’s ruining him. 

“Cunt,” Johnny bites, but it’s brushed off with a breathy chuckle as Eurodyne rolls his hips. It dissolves into a groan, followed soon after by another tremor from V. 

“Take it so good, V. Right where you belong,” the vocalist coos. “Gonna cum for us again?”

“He will,” Rogue nods. Ghosts her hand over the prominence of V’s stomach where the strap juts out. “We’ll make sure of it.”

All V can do is hang his head and take it. The choice is already made for him, and he’s more than happy to be pulled along by their wake. Especially when Kerry adjusts to properly fuck into his hole rather than passively experience it. It’s a tight fit— tighter than his cunt, especially when Kerry’s girth is taken into account. 

The vocalist makes quite the racket from beneath him, not holding back even for the neighbors’ sake. Can’t possibly care, not when the fluttering hole welcomes him in so readily. Perfect for him. 

“Shit, V. Gonna— gonna fuckin’ fill you up right,” he babbles, still squeezing V’s hand. He’s now tangled their fingers in a more soothing configuration from where they were crushed down before, thumb idly running over the street kid’s palm. “Took her so good. Feel good, babe?”

Much more vocal than the other two combined, his monologue fills the otherwise-quiet space. Sounds like music to their new toy’s ears, all the blind praise and encouragement going straight to his cock. 

“So good,” V manages around the gag of his tongue as it lolls weakly in his mouth. “Ker—”

“Attaboy. Relax. It’ll feel better like that.”

Well-acquainted with the initially uncomfortable pressure, Kerry can only imagine how overpowering it must be taking two people’s cocks at once. Even with the lube and one orgasm under his belt. One hand keeping him in place, Kerry’s other slips around to rest atop Rogue’s. 

“Look at you, gorgeous,” he smiles as the pet name falls easily from his lips. “Could stare at you like this forever.”

His tone is pinched somewhat as he eases himself in and out, plenty happy with the slow pace. Evidently, V is too, with the show he’s putting on.

Throughout it all, Johnny’s incessant dogging has done nothing in his favor and even less to disrupt the scene playing out before him. So even as Kerry’s name slips from V’s mouth like a sermon— the utterance laden with worship and blind awe, tightening around his heart like clasped hands pulling a rosary taut— he remains quiet. 

Reluctantly resigned to watch his partners entirely deconstruct V in the rawest form the street rats can achieve, he settles into the overstuffed recliner. He’s still painfully hard, the slight friction of his jeans now more of an irritation, not used to the chafing from long-term denial. Still, he can’t help but rut against his own clothes, puffing occasionally but otherwise remaining silent.

V is downright stunning, even if he is completely unaware of himself in his chase for enough pleasure to drown out God himself. His eyelids hang heavy, conflicted between squeezing shut and watching the bulge in his belly squirm with him. His waterline prickles with tears, falling into the worn tracks of others shed in his euphoria. Even his tongue hangs from his mouth as if trying to chase the drool that has been escaping, dripping from his chin and creating a shine on his chest. 

When Kerry urges, V goes down easy. At first, weakly bracing in the sofa’s side with trembling arms, he flops onto Rogue with her encouragement and reassurance. The street kid whimpers then buries his face against Rogue’s neck as Kerry all but lifts his hips up and arches his back for him with a gentle, unhurried touch.

Kerry would be tempted to admire how stretched open he is, how his cunt snugly wraps around Rogue’s strap and how puffy his abused hole is, but that would mean pulling out and denying both of them what they want. 

Another time, he can spend all the time in the world working V open and gaping his too-perfect ass. Preferably, a time alone, free of little distractions (past a few pictures snapped) and nuisances. For right now, he’s fixated on breaking V in.

Kinder than he’d ever been with Johnny, Kerry eases the smaller man into a steady rhythm with a layer of moans and swears of his own. 

“Fuck— you want it?” Kerry pants, forcing himself to stay slow and steady until he gets a clear answer. What he does get is a pitiful, reedy whine and a whiskey-smooth chuckle from Rogue. 

“Give it to ‘em, Ker,” she answers on V’s part, grinning at the vocalist as he breaks out into a crooked, sleazy smile. Kerry settles his broad palms on V’s waist and pets the little dimples at the small of his back as one last preceding act of tenderness; discrete and private between them, caught only by them and the most analytical eyes that fall vacant from the room in the face of their pleasures. 

Kerry takes the encouragement in stride, his pace slowly picking up until he’s properly fucking into V. As he moves faster, the rest of the room dims to a blur— as far as he’s concerned, it’s just the two of them locked into a dance with an all-too-familiar end. 

He could live like this forever, his cock warm and aching with uninhibited pleasure, V rendered effectively mute as he rides his disorienting high. It’s a moment they’ll undoubtedly recall in fondness later down the road; for now, all he wants is to stay buried deep within the smaller man. 

“So, so good,” he grits out, his own end coming startlingly fast with the added slick from V’s first climax. His fingers dig deeper, leaving whitish marks behind whenever he moves them ever-so-slightly to pull V back into his thrusts. 

They make the most noise of any of them, unperturbed by the unusual positioning. Their thighs eagerly clap against each other as Kerry edges further onto his knees. Only forcing himself deeper as arousal worms its way under his skin. 

“Gonna fill you up, baby.” The words come breathlessly, and anyone can see he’s going to keep the promise. 

V nods fervently, forehead hidden in Rogue’s chest as hoarse groans are ripped from his throat. 

Within a few more thrusts, the vocalist slides home with finality as his cock pumps into him. He lets his praises be well-known to everyone within a block radius as sweet relief ripples over him. 

Willing himself from a whiteout, V spreads his legs the littlest bit wider— as much as can be afforded in their tight quarters. An automatic movement allowing Kerry just a few extra fractions of an inch. 

“Did so good. Amazing,” he praises against V’s skin, doubling over to hold the smaller’s hips in place. He peppers a series of kisses to the sweat-damp back of V’s neck. 

Johnny’s cock twitches uselessly, confined in his pants. It’s a borderline painful ache between his legs, having to process so much visual stimulation without an ounce of relief. As much as he yearns to be the one pumping V full of cum, a small voice in the back of his head wishes he were in his place, the one beneath Kerry’s hips and taking the brunt of his near-constant state of pent up arousal.

Rogue catches the slightest shift in microexpression, smirking as the cemented look of vitriol and jealousy cracks and gives way to the faintest taste of envy. Having to live with the man, she knows the selective range of emotions that he expresses and how to read between the lines of each one to discern what he’s truly thinking and feeling.

“Behave, Johnny,” she says, petting along V’s back and Kerry’s bicep, “and you’ll get your reward.”

All he can do is nod, lips pressed in a thin line. Triumph radiates off Rogue in waves, self-satisfaction and pride in Johnny all the same.

“Good boy.”

V is too weak to lift his head out of the warm cradle of Rogue’s collarbones, gasping for air like a beached fish while he tries to keep himself from slipping under the waves of unconsciousness slowly creeping in. All of his energy has been drained, from the residual tremors wracking his thighs from their exertion to the faint shaking of his chest as he heaves in breath after breath, pushing them out in weak whines.

But then Rogue is shoving at Kerry, urging him to sit up with a firm, guiding hand. V’s hugged around his torso and lifted effortlessly, easy as a stuffed animal getting rearranged. He feels just like one, limbs heavy and head empty of higher processes. All he knows is that he’s stuffed full and warm.

Both boys recline against the opposite edge of the couch, Kerry holding V’s legs with one hand beneath the knees per Rogue’s instructions. The other arm stays nestled around his belly, and his nose buries itself in his hair as he continues showering V with unbridled affection. Maybe he’s more of a teddy bear than V feels, seeing as he exudes a domestic softness in his post-orgasmic haze.

It makes him feel as though he’s on display, with his cock, swollen and flushed from the abuse, entirely exposed to the rest of the room. Where Rogue is still seated in him, she traces the line of their bodily connection and spreads his cunt with her thumb to admire.

Across the room, Johnny huffs and the rustle of fabric is to be heard.

“Gonna pull out now, V,” Rogue warns, a placating palm petting his sensitive cock as she tentatively, agonizingly draws out. She rips an upset, shuddering groan from V as she pops free, and all the slick that had been comfortably collecting inside of him, plugged by her strap, leaks and mingles with Kerry’s cum.

At least he isn’t entirely hollowed by her absence, Kerry keeping him company as he weakly tries to squirm and rid himself of the uncomfortable emptiness. His hole flutters around nothing, inadvertently pushing more of his slick out.

“Messy,” she tsks lightheartedly. Where she’d ordinarily want to trail her hand through the fluid and push it back into his sore hole, she instead turns her gaze to Johnny. He immediately glances up to meet her eyes, perking and sitting straight.

“Think you earned it? Cleaning him up?”

Johnny nods, hair bobbing around his face where it's fallen. He looks just as wrecked as V without half of the stimulation—just as Rogue likes to see him. 

She beckons him forward, gesturing for him to kneel in front of the couch. His knees dig into the hardwood floor harshly, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when his head is heavy with the scents of sex and lube and arousal. 

Johnny hardly notices as Rogue pulls the curtains of his hair aside for him, still not unbinding his hands. She tucks it fondly behind his ear, and even in his focus, the gesture isn’t lost on him. 

Kerry adjusts V easily, spreading his legs for Johnny to slot in. Still refusing to pull out himself. 

V’s thighs rest on Johnny's overheated skin, embarrassingly flushed with arousal. The rockstar only shares a wink with V before his tongue dances along the head of the street kid’s cock. 

“In for a treat, V,” Kerry smiles against him. He watches lazily, only one eye open if just to take in the sight of Silverhand in his natural habitat. “No one gives better head. Learned from the best.”

The offhand compliment nets a chuckle from Rogue. 

Their banter falls deaf upon Johnny’s ears, his eyelids slipping closed as he leans in and licks around the fullness of V’s arousal. Bobbing his head, a soft groan spills from his throat. 

Even despite its insistent throb, his own needs fall to the wayside, cunt-drunk and desperate to show his partners up. Still suckling V root-to-tip, his tongue delves, slick-sticky, into his folds. 

The man above him cries out, thighs vicing Johnny between them. Torn between  _ moremoremore _ and electric overstimulation, V isn’t sure whether to kick Silverhand away or shove him deeper. Elicits a muted noise from Kerry, too, with the exhausted flutter around his softening cock. 

“Right where you belong,” the vocalist grunts. 

Johnny perks up at the praise, however demeaning, and takes it as encouragement to finally dip his tongue into the rim of V’s hole. Practically on his belly from the required angle.

Kerry is forced to take V beneath the knees and hold his legs open as instinct and overstimulation make the smaller man desperately try to shut his legs. His thighs tremble and pull frantically against Kerry’s grip, trying to snap shut, but the vocalist holds steady, forcing him to take it head-on. 

“J-Johnny—” V keens, unsure of what to do with himself in the face of excruciating pleasure. His hands awkwardly fold and hold each other against his chest, distractedly running a finger over his spit-shiny lips before he bites down to stifle another cry. 

The bassist finally grants him reprieve with a pop, kissing the head of his cock before trailing south. Gracelessly, he laps his folds open before shoving his tongue inside of him. The taste of lube and V’s slick makes him almost lightheaded, eyes sliding open again to stare at Kerry and V with a distant, dreamy look staining his expression. 

With one more broad sweep of his tongue, he shifts even further, until he’s kissing the thick vein of Kerry’s cock and V’s ruined rim. Both men squirm as V’s insides flutter weakly and Kerry throbs inside him. 

No matter how tight V is, it doesn’t change the fact that Kerry cums like a bull. Thick ropes of his seed manage to dribble out, trailing down his length only to be chased by Johnny’s degenerate tongue. 

“Shit, Johnny,” Kerry groans softly, absent-mindedly squeezing V’s thighs as a reflex against the sensation. 

He drifts even lower, giving Kerry a few generous laps where the cum had dribbled down to his balls, lips layering kisses against the soft skin before returning the attention to V. The street kid is already teetering on another edge, body desperate to be rid of the terrible rapture he’s in. 

“Look so good, Johnny,” Rogue praises, her hand slipping down to work at her clit in slow rolls of the palm. Johnny hums and sends vibrations to the root of V’s cock. 

As his tongue dips again into V’s hole, toying deliciously against his sweet spot, it's a matter of seconds before V’s next all-consuming wave of gratification hits. His cunt flexes weakly, trying to swallow Johnny’s tongue. The rockerboy laps at the expelled cum as a man stranded in the desert drinks deeply from an oasis. 

He pulls away as V stops tremoring, thick lines of slick and drool following the points of his nose and chin. 

He rises from his knees shakily upon Rogue’s instruction, presenting the sharp angle of his arousal to her. She expertly undoes his fly and pulls him free, pumping him rough with her arousal-lubed hand. 

“Watch your mouth next time, and maybe you’ll even get to fuck him,” she reprimands halfheartedly, knowing her words are falling on fully deaf ears. 

Johnny licks his lips, still tasting the ghost of V’s sex, as his eyes are wrenched shut. 

His hips work with a mind of their own. He fucks openly into her fist, waterfalls of pre making their presence known on the tangle of limbs beneath him. 

Where Kerry beats him out in volume, Johnny is uncontested when it comes to the sheer distance he can cum. It paints the back of the couch in spurts, going so far as to drip down the wall the couch is flush against. He growls and moans obnoxiously, sounding more like an act of violence than one of pleasure. 

“ _ Fuck _ , V,” he grits. It makes the street kid’s heart lurch, the implication that Johnny’s imagining spilling into him rather than accepting his inner teenage virgin and climaxing from all of thirty seconds of being jerked. 

Where Johnny was nestled close to Rogue, long hair falling in his face and obscuring him in the throes of pleasure as he nuzzles against her temple, she reaches up and runs her free hand through his hair.

“See?” she hums, milking all the pent-up cum from him, “you  _ can _ be a good boy.”

All she gets is a grunt, hardly a groan, as Johnny rolls his hips languidly. Eyes shut tight, he shudders as he edges into another round, feeling the beginnings of a new release tingling in his belly. 

“Good boy,” V softly parrots, struggling not to doze off. Kerry makes a quiet noise of agreement, fighting and losing his own battles with exhaustion. 

Johnny huffs, but this time it isn’t of obstinate denial. He lifts his head as Rogue sweeps the hair out of his face to see V peeking at him from under heavy eyelids, a content smile plastered to his lips. Just as he had when he and Johnny fooled around. Warmth blossoms in his chest, stronger than the loss of stimulation as Rogue removes her hand at last before they cross too far into the territory of a second wind. 

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Rogue asks pointedly, moving behind Johnny and working at the secure knots pinning his arms back. Under her influence, they collapse easily, finally allowing all his blood to complete their circuit to his fingers. 

“No,” Johnny reluctantly admits. He flexes and stretches his arms out before Rogue catches his biceps. She kneads the firm muscle, soothing the deep-set tension from his arms as he finally relaxes into the gentle touch. 

It’s her version of aftercare, knowing that Johnny isn’t one for the lovey-dovey praise and assurance that Kerry is particularly fond of. Simple empowerments and physical apologies in the form of massages and a fresh beer. The bassist greatly appreciates it, melting into her steady hands with a deep sigh before he lifts his head to look at the others. 

“You happy?” Kerry mumbles against the shell of V’s ear. It rouses V from the slight sleep he had fallen under, blinking as the quick question processes. 

“Mhm,” he hums, happy where Kerry has settled his legs over his own, allowing V to entirely relax against him. 

“...Can I…?”

“No.”

Kerry huffs a little chuckle through his nose, hugging V’s torso tighter and nuzzling his neck. 

“Okay. No moving. Bossy…” Kerry says lightheartedly. Kissing his neck, shoulder, everywhere he can reach, it gets to the point that V is leaning out of the reach of his lips.

“Okay, okay—“ V gripes, “out.”

“Fine. Gonna lift ya,” the vocalist warns, taking V under the knees and raising his legs up. V sucks in a breath, grimacing as the previously comfortable pressure inside of him turns into an ache as his cock slowly stretches and slips from him. When he pops free, V fails to contain the little whimper that escapes him as he’s left gaping and agonizingly empty. 

Rogue smiles a little, and Johnny catches the smirk. 

“I know that look.”

“Like to feel full, huh?” Rogue says to the street kid, who looks marginally less content now that he’s not sitting on someone’s cock. Pulled from his momentary frustration, he meekly nods. “Got some plugs, if you’re interested.”

“Ah… another time…?” V says sheepishly. He doesn’t know if he can handle any more stimulation, lest he passes away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [lambchop's twitter](https://twitter.com/commanderbait)   
>  [cowboyflesh’s twitter](https://twitter.com/silverdynes)
> 
> [there's art for this!](https://twitter.com/commanderbait/status/1361483571010170882?s=20)

**Author's Note:**

> [lambchop's twitter](https://twitter.com/commanderbait)   
>  [cowboyflesh’s twitter](https://twitter.com/silverdynes)
> 
> for clarification: johnny is in a poly relationship with kerry and rogue. it's mostly open as long as things are discussed beforehand. johnny is not good with foresight.
> 
> potential for more chapters with johnny/v/kerry/rogue >:]


End file.
